That one time I made a strawberry nectarine pie and took it on a little motorboat to another island. Some islands around here are state parks, only reachable by private boat. This island had a nice little trail around the circumference, so we had our picnic picnic and started on the trail - stopping to eat sea asparagus on the way.
I could hardly say I've lived on this island. Throughout my time, I've learned that living here is complex and varied, that it would take years to fully understand, that I don't even fully have any right to write about it.
I can only say what I've experienced so far: great generosity, beauty in so many forms, a supportive community, long walks, brunches, crazy sunsets, and many new friends. I've gone berry picking most places, to salmon seines, homestead brunches, happy hour on the beach, and also many moments of quiet.
It's difficult to fully describe or express, and I feel I won't really be able to until years of being here.
I hope everyone else is enjoying their summer <3
Venus is retrograde and I'm just a couple of months behind. Not only am I already nostalgic over my sweet Oregon reunion complete with Taproot Magazine picnic with Amanda and Phoebe, childhood friends have been coming out of the woodwork to fill me up with teenage memories and then talk to me about their relationship woes. Top it all off with a new and free romantic frontier of my own and I'm looking at Venus for a lot of things right now.
And it's good. I'm having time and space to process and dissect what I really want and need for the upcoming seasons - staring out at a true blank slate. Looking for a place to live and newly single, thinking about the communities I want to be in and the nature of the work I want to do, the northwest town I want to live in, feeling inspired in different directions constantly (being 24 amirite??). All of these thoughts swirling around coupled with such a clear vision of what I want - I spend most of my time, that's not at the bakery, searching for *my place* - the little space where I can work and be for the upcoming months. The world, or even just the northwest, is so big I feel both overwhelmed and restricted, so many nice options, but then attaining the best ones is so competitive. I search, finally find an appealing place, and it's already been rented! As my search continues on and on my mind has turned to visions of building a little home myself, I suppose time will tell!
I'm sure I've said it before, but I feel so thankful to have traveled across the country to be welcomed in by such sweet and supportive friends. As soon as I made it into the northwest I was swimming in rivers, having picnics in the park, eating cantaloupe by the shoreline, hanging out in stumps and dancing around on the coast. And while I do occasionally miss my east coast homes, there is a certain richness of life here that's kinda too good to deny.
For the month of July I found a small canvas space on the middle of the island to be in. Tucked in the back of the woods, it was just one room, wooden floor, no electricity or running water, but plenty of daylight and just enough space for me and my things. I would leave the bakery, walk through the hay field and around the treeline, arrive in the hut and collapse onto the bed - so happy to finally have a space of my own.
Living without running water and electricity is an adventure when you're staying somewhere more long-term. Just from my short time there I found myself more and more aware of the amount of resources I, as one small person, consume. Charging technology was done in coffee shops or when visiting friends. Showers were taken only whenever the big white farmhouse was empty, or sometimes also when visiting friends. I would stay up late reading by candlelight - amazed at my focus and creativity when there was no digital distraction available. I brushed my teeth and washed my face from a 5 gallon water bucket, in the mornings I lay in bed and watched the brush sway in the wind through the canvas.
And I'm so thankful to have found such a sweet space, for my tiny house neighbors, the occasional access to the big white farmhouse, and the general solace that comes with having a room of one's own.
I'm sitting here in a cafe on Lopez Island, looking at these photos from the Oregon Coast - a trip that was not even two months. When traveling time seems to operate differently. With each new landscape, person, nightly home the moments extend and expand so that just a couple of days can feel like a lifetime.
I've been moving around, taking in new scenery, communities, homes for nearly 3 months now. I've extended and expanded with the swiftly passing moments. My mind has broadened, I've had to become more flexible and more resilient, I'm absorbing inspiration constantly and then finding more creative ways to feel grounded in all this constant motion.
Ever since New York, or really childhood, I've dreamt of a little wooden space of my own. When things become difficult, or I begin feeling a bit lost on my path, this image of a small, sweet cabin will drift back into my head and I'll feel comforted just by the idea. And while I've been able to inhabit a few sweet and charming spaces here on the island, I feel ready for a more long-term little space of my own. A quiet, humble space where I can work and breathe, plant and grow.
And when in such transient states, or quite stable places, often we have to make decisions. I've been thinking a lot about the nature of decisions - how some are practical, some are impulsive, some are intuitive -- some are from the heart, and some are backed up by a more rational mind. I've always been on the side of intuitive decisions, but I've been wondering what it means when your intuition pulls you one way, but circumstance is leading you another.
In New York circumstance was largely in my favor - I was met with opportunities doing what I loved, I had a sweet place to live and a roommate I really got along with. On the surface all was well, but often I had this nagging feeling that I wasn't where I was supposed to be - everything I found meaningful was at a distance. Relationships were fleeting and I was estranged from the wilderness, from simple living, and from quiet. I would often wonder what success really meant if I didn't have anyone nearby to share it with, if I was walking home through crowds and crowds of people to arrive home feeling even more alone.
So, with the opportunity to come to the northwest, I heeded that intuition. I left the potential career climb behind and onwards towards the dream of that little wooden space I could live and work - making bread, painting, photographing- and breathe, towards the landscape that I love. Now I am finding the circumstances have directly flipped. Here in the northwest everything I find meaningful is near - I have warm supportive friends, many spaces of quiet and unbelievable beauty, my mind is clear and I feel myself becoming healthier - however those more practical circumstances are not appearing quite so easily. I'm spending much time searching for that little space I'll live for the upcoming seasons, and a steady job to help support it. And I suppose it is a lesson, that often following your dream doesn't mean everything will immediately fall in your lap, and even that the process of getting there is quite beautiful too - that sometimes heeding your vision takes time, patience, and a bit of work. I know my little space will come, and in the meantime I've got a lot around me to be pretty thankful for.
This little trip to the coast happened after 2 days of sitting in a brightly lit convention center - at the Mother Earth News Fair sitting at the Taproot Magazine stand. We drove an extra 2 hours just for 15 minutes on the coast and it was completely worth it.
I don't even really know where to start with this one. From the beginning? Our first official meeting, in Brooklyn of all places, during the climate change march. Or when I came to the islands myself back in January? Just a concentrated winter dose of the island life I'm currently living. About three weeks ago seems best, when Milla (the woman who married a bear) graciously let me into her beautiful, non-minimal, and just the right amount of messy - home.
Since arriving, there have been backyard fires and fence building with fallen trees, morning coffee, and late-night dinners that end with all us in tears from laughter. We've made meals for each other and Milla has been like some sort of angel, welcoming me in to the community here, inviting me to events, and being a solid friend for picnics and beach outings, or our bi-monthly trip to the salmon seine.
But more than that, Milla has been the perfect personality to have around, she challenges me, and probably many, in just the right way - asking questions that most people wouldn't. Throughout our morning coffee and garden work, there have been quite a few intense conversations that have left me questioning my own actions and beliefs, or how my actions are lining up with my beliefs, all in a way that is somehow unoffensive - where I still loved and supported, and even thankful when it's over.
I remember one morning, sitting outside of the coffee shop, first sharing some of my hopeful plans for the future, and then being met with a discussion about how work and life should happen organically, how it doesn't make sense to have rigid plans -- or, in other words, challenging my natural mode of being - to have a solid and steady plan. And while I still will likely hold on to planning and scheming, after our conversation I realized how helpful it was for me to loosen my hold on those step-by-step visions, instead imagining my life and work to unfold as it does naturally.
And this has been a recurring theme in our discussions. We've gone everywhere from talking about lifestyle and lifestyle sharing, social media and the implications it brings, ecological decisions and where the environment is headed. She manages to knock me out of my more natural dreamlike state of being and into something a bit more real - taking me outside to work all the while. Carrying trees over our shoulders we talk about how good it feels to make something all on your own, without buying a single thing, sharing ideas for women's workshops and classes. Each of our talks, left me feeling accountable, that each of my actions matters, that they are noticed, and that maybe I should pay attention to them too.
And as I grow and learn on this island, I feel excited for the continuation of stimulating talks, laughter filled nights, and the further alignment of my actions and beliefs. I feel excited to continue getting to know these people and the land they live on. I've swapped out the old city morning sounds of car horns and blaring hip hop for eagle calls and rooster crows. I've learned that rural life isn't that quiet after all, it's filled with bird sounds and wind sounds and the very occasional rain. And I feel happy with my new companions, not only Milla and Charlie and the already so-supportive community, but also my new slug friends, the deer and fawn, the turkey vultures, eagles and hawks that soar overhead, seals, little sea anenomes, the chickens, and mostly Milla's cats Kettu and Keesa.
... in the middle of March. We took to the Shenandoah valley just as the east coast was experiencing it's winter thaw, or the southern east coast at least. We were fortunate enough to arrive right during the first warm days of the year. We made our way over from the cabin to the forest, wondering what we could possibly forage so early in the season, then surprised and excited to find ramps right at the beginning of the tree line.
It's funny, the nature of editorial work means that each piece is written or photographed in the season prior to publishing, so we did our best amidst the wet Virginia leaves and the still bare trees.
Wild Blackberry Jam
8 cups blackberries
4 cups sugar
1 teaspoon cardamom
1 teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
1 lemon, juiced and zested
1 packet liquid pectin
- Prepare your jars, start your lids to simmering and bring your canning pot to a boil.
- In a large, non-reactive pot (stainless steel or enameled cast iron), combine the sugar and fruit pulp and bring to a simmer. Add cardamom and lemon zest/juice and stir to combine.
- Let the mixture reach a boil, stirring frequently to prevent it from boiling over. When the mixture appears to be thickening a bit, add the pectin and bring it back to a roiling boil.
- Let it boil vigorously for at least five minutes to activate the pectin. Before removing from the heat, check the set using the plate or spoon test to ensure that the jam will firm up when cool.
- Fill your jars with the hot jam, wipe rims, apply lids and rings and process in a boiling water canner for ten minutes.
- Remove from canner and allow the jars to completely cool on a dishtowel-lined counter top.
- Once the jars are cool, check the seals, label them and eat jam on toast in January.
I found a little cabin for us to stay in, right by the river's edge. We were without phone service or internet, forcing us together by the living room fire, without any distractions. I was surprised how much the lack of digital connection quieted my mind, without the option there, our conversation dug deeper, discussing our future prospects and current confusions. We all nestled upstairs, the warmth of the fire creeping in through the floor boards.
And go find a copy of Taproot Magazine's latest issue WILD to see more!
We spent the day amidst waterfalls and the great big cedars and firs that I missed so much. The falls such a striking mixture of aquamarine and olive - so beautiful against the bright green and mountains behind them. As we traveled up the mountain, the temperatures began to drop and at the top I was surprised to need a sweater and to see snow for the first time since winter.
More than anything I was thankful to be able to spend time with such inspiring women. These two are such a beautiful mixture of intelligent, creative, savvy, and hard working that I felt constantly inspired. It was such a privilege to share their company and hear how they've made a way for themselves - working towards the life they want while doing what they love.
On June 4th, little Mabel Song came into the world -- my best friend/sister is the most beautiful mother I've ever seen.
Had the honor of photographing for TWO beautiful pieces in Taproot Magazine's latest issue -- WILD. The first was a big batch of summer smoothies with recipes by Sarah Brown Davidson. I photographed these smoothies on a houseboat! Getting away from your home for a photo shoot is such a good well being decision and then I was able to share and taste all of them at the end! The coconut chaga chai was my favorite, but really they're all so good. Find a copy of Wild at a stockist near you to try them for yourself!
Coconut Chaga Chai
Recipe by Sarah Brown Davidson
1 cup coconut milk
3 dates (pitted and soaked in water to ease the blending process)
½ teaspoon cinnamon
1/8 teaspoon ginger
¼ teaspoon cardamom
1/8 teaspoon cloves
1 teaspoon chaga powder (this smoothie can certainly be made without the chaga)
Unsweetened shredded coconut for garnish
Combine all the ingredients in a blender and blend until smooth. Pour into a glass, sprinkle with shredded coconut and enjoy!
It was my first time in the midwest. As I drove in, I watched the terrain of the blue ridge mountains slowly flatten until there were no hills and only fields. I remember the flat and breezy landscape, the warmth of the people I met, the cool air that seemed without boundary. There was a certain lazy ease - the rain would pass through and shower the fields for a bit before the clouds would clear again for the sun. You could look out over the horizon of yellows, oranges, a complementary straight line underneath blue and clouds, to see the rain coming down on another town off in the distance. It felt like there was so much space to breathe, that you could let each of your thoughts go and they would just get carried away on the next passing breeze.
I spent time with Hudson's family - a lavender-salve-making- mother and a ham-radio-enthusiasit-biologist dad. With my own childhood lacking the certain warmth that comes with real quality family time - it was all the more special to join in on his. We played backyard games and I watched as they shared their projects, peering in with a wistful novelty that made me wonder if I was feeling more sentimental than everybody else.
And even though it was the second leg of my own journey, it was the beginning of traveling as a pair with Hudson. I was introduced to his family, and where he spent his childhood years, before we began an expedition of our own.
The journey west began in the south -- back to the oceanside town I grew up in. I lay in the sun all day, right at the edge of the outer banks of North Carolina, wondering why I never fully appreciated such a privilege in my young years. I squeezed in as much time with family as I could, trying my best not to complain about my newly acquired (blistering, eep) sunburn. We went out for ice cream, watched movies, ate our meals on docksides, and just as my family does, took our time. I was the only one to swim, appreciating as much of my last bit of time with the east coast as I could. I stepped into the still cool Atlantic, and soon was ducking in and out of waves, salt on my lips, salt in my hair, I was so happy. Exhilarated, it was there I realized I was really, finally free of living in New York. All my belongings in my car, right now, the road is my home. I took a deep breath and felt ready for this new chapter, a fresh beginning.
And I got to make a quick stop in my second old home, Asheville.
For those of you who know me (or follow me on Instagram) you probably know that I've made my way to the west coast. But for those who don't know anything -- I'm moving to the pacific northwest! For the summer I'll be on the San Juan Islands, underneath the Canadian border, working in a little brick oven bakery - Barn Owl Bakery. I'll be back making naturally leavened, wood-fired bread, and I couldn't be more excited. I'm hoping to use this time and space as a stepping stone to some begin some exciting projects in a special space somewhere in the northwest. Where exactly? I'm not sure yet! The upcoming months will be crucial for determining my landing zone, and I'm waiting to see where I'm led. I'll be sharing the process, my adventures, and recent work as it comes.
My last week in Brooklyn I was buzzing around packing, working on an exciting assignment for Taproot Magazine, welcoming my sweet friend Sophie of Wholehearted Eats into the city, and squeezing in as much time as I could with UK visitor and friend Izy of Top With Cinnamon! One of my favorite quiet breakfast places in Brooklyn is Rucola. The food is simple and delicious, the atmosphere is lovely, and they serve Four & Twenty Blackbirds pie to boot.
So, before I had to go to my shift at Four & Twenty blackbirds, I had a charmed morning sharing breakfast, pastries, and toast with Izy and Sophie. It's so fun to be around others who neurotically photograph everything they eat, paying attention to styling and composition and lighting. Typically I'm in the company of others who are lamenting the fact that their food is getting cold, or that they're having to wait such long time to eat -- but not with these two. We were able to laugh about our experiences photographing food, discussing techniques and cookbooks.
I also had to try my best to play it cool when Maggie Gyllenhaal and her two children came in to sit right next to us. I did my best, I think.
<3 these two.
Same living room, clean and bright, facing the familiar couch and hanging plants, the native white pillows and cushions, bookshelves and chairs. The cars buzz and honk below and the trees that were once bare are now full with lightest green. With the comfort of the familiar around, I also look around and see a covered floor-- clothes to give away, clothes to wash, a half packed worn trunk, and a table in disarray. As I slowly acquired more things here, I feared these changes, the longer I nested, the more daunting the idea of uprooting became. But here I am, the ground a bit muddy underneath me, I'm excited.
And I reflect on the last month, so bursting with experiences and changes and growth, moments of intensity and calm, happiness and melancholy. My first serious hike-- up Breakneck Ridge, a visit to the Cloisters, and to Providence, days walking around the city, a new companion, visiting friends, saying goodbyes. After so many months of cold and hibernation, suddenly I'm pushed out into the sudden sunshine, and who can say what the next months will bring.
The process is beginning. This week is for packing and moving saying goodbyes and changes in all directions. While I rush about, here are some film photos of a recent trip to the Cloisters -- such a beautiful and ancient space.
I sit here in my living room, looking at this empty text box, the cursor blinking blankly at me as I wonder what to share. It is seemingly another normal morning. I've finished my breakfast, listening to the rain on my window pane, brushing under tires on the street below, the cats sleeping soundly in front of me, the city quiet after its first weekend of sun. Another normal morning curled up on this couch, lazing under blankets, acting as if the next few weeks won't bring so many changes. Still slightly obscured that these are my last weeks on this couch, that in just a month my apartment scenery will be replaced with sights of the mountain west, or maybe the desert, I'm not even certain. And while I should begin the process of digging up roots, paring down my belongings, saying goodbyes, truly processing that these home comforts will no longer be mine, I instead choose to sit here. I listen to Hudson type next to me, more honking from cars outside, the rain fast in front of the neighboring apartment buildings. I know this is good. I've grown to love this strange city, the buzzing and interest, the street performers, the daily interchange with people from every country, and of course my pie making family at Four & Twenty Blackbirds, the comforts and harmony of living with Rebecca. I'm ready though, I know. My focus will slowly shift, no longer to finding success, or mostly to being able to afford and enjoy living here, but to how I feel when I wake up, the sights and sounds of morning, what I see when I step out the door, and then hopefully, that those simple sensory experiences will bring me a peace -- a simple pursuit.
Another simple pursuit -- Rosemary bread. As springtime brings a great stir, changes, and restlessness, making bread can be a profound practice for grounding and reflecting, while still maintaining that need for movement. It's such a beautiful ritual and I've found myself often during great changes, suddenly in my kitchen, kneading away at another loaf. Try it yourself!
Simple Rosemary Bread
makes 2 small loaves
3 cups bread flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
2 teaspoons active dry yeast (1 packet)
2 teaspoons salt
1.5 cups warm water
6-8 sprigs of rosemary, thinly chopped
I. Measure out 1/4 cup flour and reserve for a clean counter top. Pour flour in a large mixing bowl, and then place yeast on one side of the bowl, and salt on the other. Pour the water in the middle and begin mixing the dough by hand, with a wooden spoon. Mix until the dough just comes together.
II. Then begin to mix more rapidly, for about 5 minutes, until the dough is clearing the sides but still sticking to the bottom a bit. Add water or flour if the dough seems to dry or wet. Let the dough rest for 5 minutes.
III. Mix the dough again for another 5 minutes and then turn out onto a well-floured surface. Flatten your dough and sprinkle about 1/4 of your chopped rosemary across the surface. Fold and repeat, in 4 stages. Begin to knead the dough by hand (the best part!). Fold the dough into itself for a few minutes until the dough feels firm and solid. You should have a smooth, compact, firm ball.
IV. Place the dough into a lightly oiled bowl and put into a warm space to rest for 1.5 hours. Remove from bowl and punch down, and leave to rest for another 30 minutes.
V. Place dough on lightly floured surface and cut into 2. Round each into a small, firm ball. Let rest somewhere warm for another 45 minutes to an hour. During the last 20 minutes, turn the oven on to 450 degrees Fahrenheit. Place a baking stone or upside down baking sheet to heat as well.
VI. Right before putting in the oven, slash the boules with a very sharp knife. Transfer the dough to the baking sheets and bake for 20-25 minutes.
If you'd like a golden crust pour a bit of water onto the oven floor right after putting loaves in and close the door quickly. You can also put a small pan of water underneath the loaves as they bake -- steam!!
Generally, when taking photos, I (and many, I think) dislike the harsh light of direct sunshine. Midday photos are considered unappealing, without shadows and depth, inferior to those taken in the morning or evening. But right now I'm embracing them.
The weekend past before the weekend past I ventured down to the Shenandoah, staying in a cabin in the middle of the forest. I was working on another exciting assignment for Taproot Magazine's upcoming summer issue, but as these things go, it ended up being a realigning retreat for myself, too. The Saturday was miraculously warm. I woke up to varied bird song and the rush of the nearby stream, sun already shining, the warm air rising beneath the floor boards. I remembered the southern coming of spring of my childhood, I walked around barefoot on damp earth without worry. I laid on the grass, in the sun, for hours. I thought, "This is all I need."
And, as everything around me thaws, my mind follows. I feel unbridled change coming and I wonder where I'll be when this summer issue is released.
"one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade" - charles dickens
I lay in my bed, listening to road sounds, the hum of passing cars, the conversation amongst neighbors, the cold air trickling in through my windows. I remember a quote reminding, listen through the static to hear the music. I filter through the honking cars and sirens to the bird's springtime song, the faint brush of the wind through the trees, my curtains sway in the window, the soft light streaming onto my bedsheets. It is my first day to be alone, and still, in nearly a month, I think.
In keeping with the stir of spring, these days have been of movement and change, beauty and waking up. Last week Hudson and I went on a walk . It was my first day without work in the city, and a moment to reflect and transistion after an enchanted forest foraging adventure in the Shenandoah. And we walked, from the noisier, crowded streets of my neighborhood, passing the filming of a movie and construction scenes, to prospect park in the midst of winter's thaw. We walked by the zoo at feeding time, remarking on the enthusiasm and agility of the seals, all of the children, their noses pressed against the bars, in awe. Looking across the street and I noticed a patch of purple on the hillside, the bloom of crocuses , a small lavender stretch of hope - the coming of spring.
We arrived at the botanical gardens, observing the delicate line between winter and spring, the small patches of crocuses, budding faint green on branches. I loved the cherry trees, so strong and winding, the bamboo stalks, light yet durable. As we passed the Japanese garden, Hudson explained the concept of forest bathing- how in Japan it is customary to walk about in nature, to take time to breathe and literally 'shower' in greenery, as a regular health practice. And breathing in the rich air, observing children playing, one of the few places in the city where strangers smile upon passing, I felt my worries dissipate, truly content with the present. I wondered why the western world doesn't value such practices, how so much, even our health, is made into a sport or a commercial undertaking, yet how simple and beautiful it is to just walk around in the natural world.
I feel I could elaborate forever on my awe of these gardens, the magic of the greenhouses, and the restless excitement this spring is giving me, but instead, this cake:
My lovely and hardworking friend (fellow pie maker at Four & Twenty), Rica, had a birthday just a couple of weeks ago! As a gift for how much she does for us, how forgiving and kind she is with scheduling, her general soothing presence, and simply that it was her birthday -- I made this cake! As we were assembling apple pies one day, she had mentioned her favorite cake - a white cake with lemon buttercream and coconut shavings, and so, I made a mental note and delivered this to her surprise birthday party at our work! The cake is so (yes, the -m- word) moist and goes so well with the lemon buttercream and a thin, thin layer of strawberry jam in between.
White Cake Recipe
1/2 cup coconut oil
1 cup butter (2 sticks), room temperature
2 1/2 cups sugar
1/2 cup brown sugar
3 cups all purpose flour
2 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp salt
1/2 cup whole milk
1/2 cup buttermilk
2 tsp vanilla
I. Preheat oven to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. Butter two 9" cake pans and coat well with flour, removing all excess flour.
II. Using an electric mixer, cream together coconut oil and butter until light and fluffy. Add in sugar slowly, one cup at a time, making sure each cup is fully incorporated before adding another. Add eggs in one at a time, mixing thoroughly before adding another.
III. Sift together flour, baking powder, and salt. Pour whole milk, buttermilk, and vanilla into a measuring cup and whisk. Alternating, add dry ingredients and then wet ingredients to butter mixture in 3 stages, ending with the dry ingredients.
IV. Mix until well combined, scrape down sides and bottom of bowl until everything is well mixed.
V. Pour batter into pans, making sure they are evenly distributed. Bake 25-30 minutes, or until toothpick comes out clean. Remove and allow to cool slightly in the pans and then transfer to baking rack.
3/4 cup butter (1 1/2 sticks)
2 1/4 cup powdered sugar
3 tablespoons heavy cream (or milk)
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
2 tablespoons lemon zest
pinch of salt
I. Beat butter with electric mixer on medium speed for 2- 3 minutes. Butter should be creamy and smooth with a lighter color.
II. Except the zest, add the remaining ingredients. Mix on low speed until all is incorporated and then increase to medium speed and mix for 3-5 minutes. Add cream if the buttercream seems too thick, or more sugar if it seems to wet.
III. Frost the cake or place in airtight container and refrigerate!
Just a couple of weeks ago, the city snow finally began to melt. We had our first days with temperatures above freezing and I was so elated. Spring is here! I hurried to my bike and breezed around the city - the first bike ride of the year - feeling so excited about what the warmer months will bring.
And then the days have been so pleasantly entrenched with Taproot magazine. While working on projects for their upcoming summer issue: WILD (such exciting projects) and spending time with another contributor, Hudson Gardner, I was so excited to receive my copies of SONG in the mail.
Kirsten Shockey delivered another beautiful piece about fermenting herbs, how to use them, where to find them, and more elaboration on her seemingly enchanted life in the Pacific Northwest. And I had the honor of photographing the story!
Read more in Taproot Magazine's SONG - available in book stores and coops near you.